


Off Balance

by Winterstar



Category: White Collar
Genre: Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4314327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answers the prompt on livejournal hurt-comfort - found <a href="http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/43570.html?thread=417074#t417074"> here</a> Neal has an ear infection and is jumping buildings and chasing after the bad guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off Balance

It really isn’t about the muscles, about how they stretch and pull. Similarly, it really isn’t about the contraction of his heart, how the blood flows into the right atrium, how the values work in concert, how the right ventricle pushes the blood into his pulmonary system to be suffused with oxygen and then is dumped unceremoniously back into the heart only to be pushed out again with a violent shove by the left ventricle. In the same fashion, it really isn’t about his lungs which expand and fill when the diaphragm pulls away from the sacs of the lungs, and then the exhalation occurs when it relaxes.

It might have a little to do with sight and judgment of distances. Understanding physics helps the dynamics of the task as well. But what utterly and truly makes or breaks the situation is a little snail like organ in the middle of his ears. The cochlea. He always thought it had an insanely funny name. Where the hell did they get names from parts of the body anyway?

Tibia – sounded like a female name.

Femur – sounded like the name of some small rodent type creature.

Vitreous humor – well that sounded like funny gooey stuff and it probably was since it was in the middle of your eyeball.

Cochlea – he hated to admit it but his mind went to all the wrong places and the wrong parts of his body when he thought about it.

Yet it is an essential part of the ear since it controls coordination and especially balance. The fluid in the shell like organ and tilt of the head and body telegraph position to the brain. The body’s own level. It is vitally important for balance - everything from standing to walking to jumping rooftops.

His current situation is the latter – jumping rooftops, glancing off the sides of them as he dodges bullet spray. The suspect feels like he’s just in reach, yet he flies another space between the buildings and makes it to the other roof before Neal can catch him. He has to capture him, he has no other choice. The hulk of a man has the detonator to a bomg rigged to a safe, the locked safe with the hostages – children- and a bomb in it.

No one follows; Peter is back at the safe working with the bomb squad to disarm the bomb and free the prisoners. Without direction or permission, Neal sprinted after their suspect and now somehow finds himself leaping tall building in a single bound. He much prefers using a parachute of some sort.

He teeters when he lands the last jump, his balance off and wavering. His mind cycles back to the strangely named cochlea – that shell like thing inside his ears named from the Greek for a snail. He has Greek snails in his ears. He blinks once and realizes it is much worse than he thought.

Shivering though he should be sweating from all the racing across the brownstones, Neal knows his fever has pitched to a new high. Maybe he should have confessed to Peter about the fever, maybe he should have told him about the persistent ache, and piercing pain in his left ear.

Now is not the time to admit he has an ear infection.

Another barrage of gunfire and Neal crouches to avoid it, and then watches as the suspect bounds across the roof tiles to the next building. It isn’t a long jump, just about five feet. The space cannot even be called an alley. He springs forward and sails into the wind. Hitting the roof, he tumbles and fights for balance. The rooftop becomes the sky and the world twists and spins. He feels a nauseating pitch of his stomach and he grunts as he struggles to maintain up from down. He finds his feet and starts after the man again.

Another shot of gunfire and Neal drops to the roof top, guessing which way is up and which way is down. He slides, tumbles, and grabs for purchase. He locates it and stays low for a couple of seconds until the fire ends and the suspect is on the move again.

Neal scrambles to his feet, but the world does a little spin and wild ride like he is on the teacups at Disney World. He swallows back bile and focuses on his target instead. The pounding of his heart ricochets in his ears, pulsating until the pain ratchets up and it becomes more difficult to breathe.

The suspect eases to the end of the roof and peers at Neal over his shoulder. The jump is too far, he’ll never make it. He glares at Neal and considers the distance again. In seconds Neal will come to regret his decision, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty as the saying goes. Ignoring the pain searing through his inner ear to stab into the soft places of his throat, Neal dives at him. The gorilla of a man doesn’t have the good graces to collapse onto the hot tarp of the roof; instead he grapples within Neal’s hold.

Arms locked around him, Neal has no choice but to try and throw the man off balance. They wrestle without either one of them taking the advantage until Neal shifts his leg and kicks upward into gorilla’s groin. A grunt and huff and he releases Neal and bends over his wounded crotch. Neal staggers away, panting but with each breath the spear of pain lances through his ear. Neal curls around his infected ear for a moment, taking his attention away from the suspect.

In a flash, Neal has no idea what happens next. A weight collides with him and he stumbles backward, falling into open space, grabbing onto the only solid mass he can find. He hangs from the man’s leg, trying but failing to find leverage as he slides down, swinging over the open alley.

Glancing up, Neal squints and sees they’ve actually flipped over the edge of the rooftop. The suspect has only one hand fisted around a rail of a fire escape. The man struggles and his movements cause a violent swaying.

“Stop, stop!” Neal says and then adds, “If anyone is listening, now would be a good time to appear.” Neal has no idea if he is still within range of the receivers for the communication link still tucked into his right ear.

“Get the fuck off me,” the suspect yells and kicks his booted heel at Neal’s tenuous grip.

The smash of his boot impacts and Neal loses his hold. He dangles with only one hand. He slips an inch.

“Shit, now would be good Peter!” Neal says and gazes up at his lifeline. “They’re coming now, don’t move.”

“Get off!”

Again the heel bangs into his knuckles, the back of his hand. The suspect repeats his bombardment until the back of Neal’s hand is split and bloody. He slips another inch.

“Does anyone have eyes on Caffrey?” Diana’s voice rings in his ear.

“Diana?”

“Neal? Where are you?”

He has no idea and the hulk above him kicks again and Neal slides another inch. “Stop moving!”

“What? Caffrey, I don’t copy.” Diana says then another voice chimes in and it is Peter. “Pull up his tracking data.”

Good, good, Neal thinks. Rely on Peter, no problem, no problem at all.

Until it is a problem.

A bullet whizzes past his head.

He glances up at the suspect and sees the gun is focused on his head, and more precisely on the middle of his forehead. The man kicks his leg again trying to dislodge Neal.

“We got an address, boss,” the radio chatter sings in his head.

“Let go,” the suspect says. “Or I will fucking shoot you in the head.” Another shot and it is dangerously close to his head.

“Getting shot in the head is not on my to-do list today,” Neal says more for the benefit of his friends listening in like it is some damned thirties radio show.

The suspect stops moving and targets Neal’s head. “Let go, you fucker.”

Neal heaves in a breath and looks down. His ear protests and the pain wavers his vision until it pulses. He can’t swallow back the tipping and veering of the world anymore, the pain is too much. He tries to calculate his chances, sees the dumpster below, the height of the building, the possibilities, and there really is only one choice. He lets go.

He doesn’t scream just remembers he’s done jumps before, but with more finesse, more style, and more control then this one. He plummets and strikes his arms out trying to brace for the fall. He’ll hit back first and he cringes at the prospect. He imagines doing one of those trust games where you allow yourself to fall into the arms of your friend, knowing that they will catch you.

He can only hope Peter will catch him. It is all over in seconds and the impact reverberates. His head thumps against something hard and slimy at the same time. The collision was nothing close to comfortable but he isn’t dead so he has to be grateful for that – he’s landed in a dumpster and he feels every foot of his fall. Groaning, Neal tries to grope and climb to his hands and knees but he collapses.

A creak and a loud crack warn him and he jumps aside as the fire escape releases its burden and the suspect drops. His fall is face first and he hits with a resounding thud. Neal chokes back bile as the smell and the nauseating sensation from his unbalanced cochlea mix.

He shakes at the man but he’s out. Checking his pulse point, Neal notes – alive. He grabs the gun and tosses it away, then slips his hand in the suspect’s pocket to find the detonator to the safe. Clambering through the heaping plastic garbage bags, his shoes stained and wet with the decomposing ooze, he makes it to the side of the steel dumpster and hoists himself out of it.

For some reason, he cannot maintain a standing position. He crumples to the ground, the puddle around him seeping into his suit, staining the fine lines and expensive fabric. He cringes but hears one little beep of his anklet before it goes silent. He looks down at it and realizes it is red.

“Lucky me, fell off a building and ran all in one day,” he mumbles as the voices in his head call to him. The alley way grays out and he thinks that is a good thing, since the puddle is cold and his ear is on fire.

*oOo*  
Peter sits with his suit jacket folded over his arms looking at Neal like he’s just emerged from a shark tank. Neal can understand the expression of pity and a bit of disgust laced over his features. The cuts and bruises don’t mix well with the stench of garbage. He’s sitting on the end of the hospital bed. The back of the hospital gown is open and letting in the cool air from the vent in the spotted drop ceiling. The black socks on Neal’s feet look oddly out of place on his pale skin. The nurses tried to help him clean up but he cannot get the odor to go away. He wonders if he’ll need to throw out the suit. He hopes they let him wash his hair.

“They want to keep you overnight for observation,” Peter says and he wrinkles his nose. “Falling off a building qualifies as a bad thing, you know.”

Neal nods but the room does that little tilt a world thing again and he closes his eyes. That doesn’t make it any better. He rubs at his ear.

“Oh, the doctor says you have a raging ear infection, too. Cannot understand how you could possibly walk considering all the guck in your ear.”

“I guessed,” Neal says and grimaces. Even talking still hurts.

“They hooked you up to some antibiotics, cleaned up the cuts,” Peter says as he points to the intravenous line. “You have bruised kidneys so don’t be surprised at the peeing blood.”

“Oh joy,” Neal says but doesn’t look up at Peter. Everything still hurts and his ear throbs in time with his heartbeat. It thumps in his heart like a mad man drumming.

Peter stands and walks over to Neal. “Lay down, you need rest.” With hands surprisingly gentle, Peter helps Neal to settle onto the bed. He fixes the pillow and pulls up the white blanket. Neal groans but tries to smother it. When he notices Neal’s shudder he requests another blanket and the nurse gives him one just out of the dryer. It is warm and nice and smells good. It almost makes the decomposing stench go away.

Peter’s hand on his shoulder supports him. “You did well. Those kids would have died in that safe. There wasn’t even an hour’s worth of air in there. There was no way they could have survived without getting the detonator."

Neal doesn’t reply. He only thinks about the long jumps and the distance to the ground. A simple picking the lock would have made his life so much easier but the rigged explosive device made it impossible.

“The bomb squad was estimating two hours before they could disarm the explosive device,” Peter reports.

“The suspect?” Neal asks because even though the guy was a creep to threaten children, he still doesn’t like death.

“A little beat up, but under arrest because of you,” Peter says. “Rest, I’ll come by in the morning.”

Peter moves to leave but Neal stops him. “Peter.”

“Yes?”

“Next time you get to leap tall buildings in a single bound,” Neal says.

“Only if you let me borrow your cape.”

Neal laughs as Peter leaves.

Later, he goes to sleep with a smile on his lips thinking of oddly named body parts and Greek snails and Superman.

THE END. 


End file.
